Winnowing the Chaff

[stungunbilly]

I've been working on icons more than writing this month, and still haven't reached my quota, but I've made a dozen icons or so and written parts of at least three stories. The following probably won't make it into them, so. For those of you who aren't into bandslash and still wish to read the following tiny snippet, this is Pete Wentz and this is Patrick Stump and they play music together in the band Fall Out Boy.

Objectively Speaking, a snippet
Pete Wentz, peripherally Pete Wentz/Patrick Stump
Obviously not true.

Pete doesn’t think Patrick is, like, objectively hot. Not like Mikey Way or Ryan Ross or even Pete himself. Patrick’s got a soft middle and he’s tiny and his neck is pudgy. The guy can’t tan and he’s got no body art at all, won’t wear much makeup even. His clothes are beyond retro and into lame, he has an almost girly mouth, and maybe worst of all on paper, he hunches. There’s no redeeming confidence in his looks or his sex appeal.

So Patrick’s not objectively hot. And people agree with him, he even hears jokes about it before the joker spots him, or reads comments online that are scathing. Patrick’s ability to score previous to the band was pretty weak. He gets blown off in the bad way by a lot of the girls on the scene, especially if they don’t know who he is beforehand. Patrick’s even balding, at 23. If it were anyone else, Pete would probably feel sorry for them.

He doesn’t feel at all sorry for Patrick, though, and there’s a good reason. Patrick is a fucking sex god. And it makes no sense, aside from him being Patrick, and maybe the most amazing person that Pete has ever met in his life. It could be written off as the effect of stardom, of course, but it’s so totally not, because Pete’s, if anything, a bigger star. But even Pete doesn’t get the same number of offers from women over the age of consent as Patrick does.

He can see it, of course. Patrick’s, no, not objectively hot. But his arguably fish-belly skin is actually incredibly creamy-smooth and almost glossy. And his girly mouth is perfectly shaped, wow, full and pink and very, very kissable. The balding hair is fluffy and looks perfect in red, and curls around Patrick’s face with a flair that’s almost flirtatious. The flab makes Patrick soft and warm and cuddly, so that Pete can sit in his lap and be held, even though Patrick is three inches shorter. And whenever Patrick moves his mouth, or breathes, or hums, Pete gets a tiny thrill of acticipation. You never know when Patrick is  going to say your name, or maybe sing.

When Patrick sings, his whole body quivers with the power of his voice, and he is immense. The sound reverberates through Pete's bones, shakes him, and that has never changed. It always awed him, but it never used to occur to him that "sex" and "awe" could sometimes be synonyms.

But even more than the voice, the secret to his sex god status probably lies in the slightly sarcastic, slightly sweet look on Patrick’s face, the glint of his eye when he gives in to whatever inevitable adoration he encounters. Whether it’s a random fan, or the hotel concierge who is probably married and should know better, or a critic, or even Pete, Patrick never quite accepts nor denies adulation. He just gives that gentle-eyed ironic smile, and lets it swirl around him, this close, but never carrying him away. He’ll very kindly wait you out, and then go back to whatever you were speaking of before, or whatever he was doing.

Pete has known Patrick for years, for years and miles and sometimes, Pete worries because he maybe doesn’t know Patrick that well. He’s spent so many hours running and yelling and posting, so that when he catches glimpses of the connection between Andy and Patrick, or Patrick and other music geeks, or Patrick and the quite high number of women (and men) who want him, he feels… jealous, maybe, or maybe just angry. It’s his own fault, because while Patrick was making friends with musicians and techs and, really, his friends, Pete was obsessing or trying to forget his obsessions. Or getting wasted on booze and pills and other people’s mouths and hands and always, always eyes.

He thinks he might have missed something important, like the fact that apparently, everybody else in the world besides stupid and oblivious folks knew about Patrick and his being a sex god before Pete did, and Pete may have missed the boat altogether. So Pete spends as much time with Patrick as Patrick will allow, or Patrick’s new, curly-haired girlfriend can stand, or whatever. And he courts a lady who is beautiful and sweet and treats him like an admired friend, like Patrick’s lady treats him.

Ashlee loves him, and Pete thinks he might love her too, and anyway she makes him feel relaxed and wanted, which is maybe better than any girl ever has before her. And when she agrees to marry him, he is as happy as he is ever likely to be, with the too-late realization of unrequited love only stinging a little most of the time, really. She is definitely hot, from the most clinical viewpoint, even. She is brown and gold and perfect, and anyone who looks will see it. It’s certain that, while she and Pete are married, there will always be someone to look.

Objectively, it’s the best possible scenario.

***